


In the gutter (looking up at the stars)

by Bastetian



Category: Scarecrow Series - Matthew Reilly
Genre: Anal Sex, Hook-Up, M/M, pre-Ice Station
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastetian/pseuds/Bastetian
Summary: While he was pretty confident he wasn’t the only marine to ever sit at this dusty bar, nursing a longboard on his off hours, Schofield hadn’t expected any of his marines to walk in.
Relationships: Shane "Scarecrow" Schofield/Oliver "Hollywood" Todd
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	In the gutter (looking up at the stars)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ebineez01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebineez01/gifts).



Schofield saw him first.

His first response was a flash of irritation. He had only come in looking for a quiet drink.   
This was an unexpected complication.

He had found this bar a few weeks after he had been posted to Kaneohe Base and assumed command of Marine Force Reconnaissance Unit 16. It was small and non-descript. A little dingy even, set well back from Hawaii’s beautiful beaches. Exactly the sort of thing you might expect from the third-closest gay bar to an active military base. None of the attention-grabbing neon lights or bedazzling rainbows that the closer two were decked out with. Not that there was anything wrong with that – their blinding lights, dark corners and pounding music offered anonymity of a different kind – but this place was the sort of bar a marine could slip into for an easy drink without too many questions asked. Even if someone did recognise him going in _and_ knew the nature of the clientele that frequented this place, it was discrete enough that he could claim ignorance.   
Being new to the islands and all, it was an easy enough mistake to make.

So while he was pretty confident he wasn’t the only marine to ever sit at this dusty bar, nursing a longboard on his off hours, he hadn’t expected any of _his_ marines to walk in.

In the months since he had met the marines that made up his unit, Schofield thought he had got the measure of the men and women under his command. Observant and patient, Schofield generally thought himself a good judge of character. If he was going to lead these marines, he needed to know them. He needed to know how to motivate and reassure them, to get the best out of them. But more than that. They put their lives in his hands. He owed it to them.

Turns out, he had missed a few details.

Because there was Hollywood Todd, looking a little nervous, walking in through the bar doors.

Hollywood hadn’t seen him yet. Then, he looked up and their eyes met across the room.

Shane’s second response was a sudden flicker of curiosity.

Schofield held Todd’s gaze evenly. Waiting to see what Hollywood would do. He watched as Hollywood’s expression rapidly morphed from recognition, to confusion, to panic.   
Then, realisation settled across his face.

A small smile curled around the edges of Schofield’s mouth, as Hollywood drew himself up a little taller and started across the largely empty bar, making straight for Schofield.

Interesting.

He had realised, as Schofield knew, that they had found themselves in a situation of mutually assured destruction. Neither were supposed to be in this bar, but neither could tattle to the higher ups without first having to explain why they were there in the first place.   
And presumably they were there for the same reason.

Schofield signalled the bartender for another drink.

“Hey sir,” Hollywood said, grabbing the seat beside Schofield.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as he popped the top off a second Longboard. Schofield huffed a laugh.

“I’m not your CO in here,” he said, as he passed the fresh bottle over. Hollywood raised it to his lips and took a mouthful without dropping his gaze from Schofield’s. “Shane will do.”

“Oliver,” Hollywood said, grinning over the rim of the bottle. “So what happens now?”

Schofield shrugged, raising his own drink.   
“That’s up to you.”

Twenty minutes later, Schofield found himself shoved roughly against the wall of his off-base apartment in Kailua – one suburb and a world away from Kaneohe Base – Hollywood’s tongue down his throat, and the hard planes of their bodies pressed up against each other in all the right places.

Hollywood’s hands grabbed at the short spikes of Schofield’s hair, pulling him in until his sunglasses started to bite at the bridge of his nose.

Schofield drew back.

He could see where the frames had left indents into the skin of Hollywood’s cheeks.

Laughing, Hollywood reached up to swipe the glasses away, but Schofield caught his arm before he got too close.

“Serious, man?” Hollywood said. “Clothes off but sunglasses on? How’s that usually work out for you?”

Schofield quirked an eyebrow at him.

Hollywood wasn’t deterred though. “Is this not gonna end up naked? ‘Cause I was planning on this ending up naked.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Schofield said, with a wry smile. Then he jerked his head over at a door to his right. “Bedroom’s that way. I just need a minute.”

He started towards a different door, one that led to the bathroom instead, when Hollywood called out teasingly to his retreating back, “Yes sir.”

Schofield turned back, shot him a mock glare.

“What?” Hollywood protested. “You said not in the bar. You didn’t say nothing about the bedroom.”

Schofield shook his head ruefully.   
This was complicated enough as it was. There were some associations he really didn’t need.

“Definitely not in the bedroom,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” Hollywood’s teeth were blindingly white against his dark skin when he smiled. “Not in the bedroom either, got it.”

Schofield stepped into the bathroom, pulled the door shut behind him. He swiped the glasses off his face, letting them fall into the sink with a clatter. He avoided looking too long at his scarred face in the mirrored door of the cabinet hanging above his sink. Pulling it open, he glanced over at a small bottle of thick concealer that sat on his top shelf, because Hollywood was right, there were some circumstances where sunglasses just wouldn’t cut it. Then he shook his head, and grabbed the tube of lube instead.

A few minutes later, he exited the bathroom to find Hollywood still lingering in the living room. Schofield had stripped neatly down to his boxers.   
And left the sunglasses behind.

“Fucking hell,” Hollywood exclaimed when he caught sight of Schofield’s scarred eyes. “There’s gotta be a story behind those.”

“One for another day,” Schofield replied. He was gratified to see that while the scars had grabbed Hollywood’s attention first, like they always did when people saw them for the first time, they hadn’t stopped him from glancing appreciatively over the rest of Schofield’s physique.

Shane tossed the lube and a box of condoms over at Hollywood’s chest. “You want to talk about them?” He said. “Or do you want to fuck me?”

Hollywood swallowed audibly.   
“I definitely wanna fuck you.”

Schofield headed towards the bedroom. Without looking, he could hear Hollywood stumbling behind him, hurriedly pulling off his clothes as he went.

By the time Hollywood found his way to the bedroom, all his clothes had been left behind him like a storm marking its passage through Schofield’s flat. Naked as sin, Hollywood cut a gorgeous figure. Long and lean and in the prime of his life.

He crossed the room and dragged Schofield into a bruising kiss. With two hands on Schofield’s shoulders, he tried to push him down onto the bed but Schofield resisted.

Pulling back, he said “I don’t like to watch.”

Hollywood swiped his tongue against the closed seam of Schofield’s lips, leaned in close.   
“Then lie down on your front,” he said.

Schofield’s eyebrows flicked up in surprise at Hollywood’s commanding tone.

“What?” Hollywood retorted. “You made it very clear you’re not my boss tonight.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Schofield laughed.

Hollywood indicated at his cock, curving proudly up towards his stomach. “Hell yeah I am.” He pressed his palm against the seam of Schofield’s boxers, fingers seeking out the hard shape of his cock through the thin fabric. “What about you, Scarecrow. You enjoying this?”

Schofield didn’t reply. He just grabbed a pillow from the headboard and settled himself on the bed on his front, with the pillow in the crook of his hips so his ass was canted up at a more comfortable angle.

Behind him, he could hear the sound of the foil condom wrapper ripping and a stifled grunt as Hollywood rolled it down the length of his cock. Then the pop of the lube being opened, and cool air against his bare ass as Hollywood tugged his boxers off.

Hollywood’s voice said “Holy shit,” as his fingers slipped past the resistance of Schofield’s already slick ass and into his body.

“You don’t need to do that,” Schofield said, voice slightly muffled from resting against his arms, crossed in front of him.

He had taken a few minutes alone in the bathroom to prep himself, clinically and efficiently.

What Hollywood was doing was not clinical and efficient.

“I noticed,” Hollywood replied, circling his fingers teasingly against sensitive skin. He leant in close, so that the warmth of his breath ticked the back of Schofield’s ear. “But maybe I want to.”

Then he added an extra digit and crooked them so that all that pressure was pushing right up against Shane’s prostate and going straight to the pleasure centres in his brain.

Schofield groaned into the cradle of his arms.   
“Just fuck me, would you.”

“Aw nah,” Hollywood said, leaning into the syllables and Schofield’s body. “You’re not giving orders tonight, remember.”

Schofield muttered a few choice curses, unable to stop his body his body’s response to the gentle onslaught. His hips shifted restlessly, seeking out the fullness of Hollywood’s fingers but also burying into the pillow beneath them, trying to get some friction against his leaking dick. A thin string of precum had caught on the pillow, stretching to the head of his cock and threatening to snap with each erratic jerk.

“If you don’t fuck me soon, you’re not going to get to,” Schofield ground out.

Hollywood dug his other hand into the flesh of Schofield’s ass, before running it carefully down the sensitive skin between his legs to brush against his balls. “You come on my cock, or not at all.”

“Well fucking use it then,” Schofield shot back.

Hollywood withdrew his fingers, and Schofield almost whined at the loss, but then Hollywood threw one of his legs over so he was straddling his body. His knees pressed into Schofield’s thighs, pinning him down. Hollywood was an even six-feet, and those extra few inches he had on Schofield meant he could comfortably plaster his torso against the whole length of Schofield’s back, his arms braced beside his head, bracketing him entirely. He sunk his teeth into the meat of Schofield’s shoulder as he slid home, breaching him in one smooth movement that knocked the breath out of Schofield.

Hollywood, having teased him plenty with his fingers until he was pliant and desperate, gave him no time to adjust to the added girth of his cock but instead settled straight into a punishing rhythm. His breath was hot against Schofield’s skin as he panted into the back of his neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there. Every thrust of his hips pressed Schofield’s cock into the plush pillow beneath him until it was noticeably damp from the sweat of their bodies and the steady stream leaking from the head of Schofield’s cock.

Like a good marine rifleman, he hit the target every time. Each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure sparking through Schofield’s body until he was lost to everything but the sensation.

“Jesus, Scarecrow,” Hollywood panted, pressing his forehead into the swell of Schofield’s spine. “You gonna come for me?”

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shane managed to get a hand in between his own body and the bedsheets, adding that little extra needed friction to the soft pillow cradling his hips. There was no finesse, but he was past needing it. A fist wrapped around his cock and Hollywood filling him was more than enough. He came in thick white spurts over his fist, with a drawn-out groan, leaving a puddle to pool in the pillow.

Over-sensitive and strung-out post-orgasm, he pushed back into Hollywood’s body and clenched every muscle he could still feel in his lower body until he felt Hollywood’s rhythm stutter.

“Oh fuck,” Hollywood moaned, “I’m gonna – ”

Schofield didn’t actually feel him release inside him, courtesy of the condom, but he could feel his balls tighten and twitch against the back of his thighs as Hollywood pumped into him like he was trying to bury himself inside.

Hollywood pulled out and rolled away with a long exhale.

After a minute to catch his breath, he carefully pulled off the condom and tied it off to throw away. Then he rolled over onto his side to face Schofield.

“So what now?” He said.

“I don’t know,” Schofield muttered, limbs heavy and feeling lazy. “I guess we go back to work tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen.”

Hollywood’s fingers tripped playfully along the length of Schofield’s spine.

“Tomorrow’s still plenty a ways off,” he said, with a wicked grin. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead yet. I was thinking about pizza – and then seeing if you got another round in you.”


End file.
